At the Cleaners’ base, the air always carried the scent of old metal, oil, and faint remnants of the Outer Trash Zone.

But today, it also carried something else—anticipation.

Arkha had planned for it, although “planned” might’ve been too strong a word for what Arkha usually did. Let’s call it… a “suggestion of fate.”

The morning was lazy. Dust danced in the sunlight slipping through cracked windows, and even Enjin didn’t feel the need to sharpen his words or blades just yet.

He lounged on the top banister, one leg over the other, eyes closed, as though asleep—but everyone knew better.

Enjin never truly rested. His ears were always open.

Downstairs, Riyo had taken over the corner table, surrounded by bits of scrap and tech, goggles perched low on her nose.

She was trying to rewire a device Baby Santa found the day before—a weird little thing that sparked and blinked like it was laughing at her.

Tamsy sat nearby, occasionally peeking up at Riyo and offering advice she didn’t ask for. Riyo ignored him but listened all the same.

“Still no sign of the mystery member?” He asked lazily, lying upside down across the couch, head nearly touching the floor.

“Nope,” Zanka replied, balancing a cup of coffee on the bridge of him nose for a bet no one made. “But Arkha said today.”

They all looked toward Arkha, who was cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by cards, gears, feathers, and a singular spoon.

He didn’t even blink but he had that calm smile. “You’re all too bound by your logic. The universe doesn’t schedule arrivals. It nudges them.”

Semius stood by the door, leaning her weight into the shadows, arms crossed. she hadn’t said a word, but everyone felt her silence—like a thunderstorm waiting on the edge of town.

Then— The lights flickered.

Nothing new. The lights always flickered. But this time, they flickered in rhythm. Once. Pause. Twice. Pause. Thrice.

Rudo noticed first. He was by the window, hands in his pockets, gazing out at the junk horizon. He stiffened. Not in fear. In recognition.

Someone had entered the base.

No one saw the door open. No one heard footsteps. But one moment, the hallway was empty. The next, it wasn’t.

A shape moved down the corridor—slow, certain, quiet as smoke. Not creeping. Gliding. You. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

Your reputation moved faster than your body. Most of them had heard of you. The Cleaner who wasn’t always there—but was always watching.

The one Arkha spoke about like a storm rolling in from nowhere. The one who operated where no one else could, slipping between moments, assignments, even realities.

Your eyes swept across the room like a blade. Not cutting. Weighing. Measuring.

Enjin opened his eyes as a smirk ran across his lips. “Took your time,” he spoke in his own amusement.

Tamsy paused mid-sketch, and Riyo dropped her tools. Even Zanka, still balancing his cup, froze. Arkha smiled without looking up. “Right on time.”

Rudo didn’t move. He watched you like someone watching a reflection they didn’t expect to see. Not fear. Not awe. Something else.